Once Upon A Time
by TerrifiedOfButterflies
Summary: Based on Disney/Pixar's "Brave," the story chronicles Specs and Krayonder as they fall in love and struggle to change their own fates. Obviously I own no rights to the characters or "Brave," all credit goes to their originators. Thanks to my beta, throughthewindowsofthisbook.


Once upon a time, there was a city nestled between two mountains. The mountains were so large that they completely obscured the city to the outside world. A castle, a central town, and a couple of outlying suburbs made up the entirety of the kingdom, known as Ndán, though it was lovingly referred to as the Lonely Shire by its inhabitants. The castle stood upon a rocky outcropping, gazing upon the valley below with a dignified affection. Its slate walls, built by local effort hundreds of years before, stood as a symbol of community, trust, respect, and honor. Its roughhewn edges reminded the people of their land, imperfect in its rolling hills sprinkled with boulders. They farmed the land, traded goods, built things from rock and wood and iron… That was the splendor of the city! It grew from the earth; the people led lives based on the soil beneath their feet. In that way, it was nearly paradise.

And yet, to some, it felt like a prison. Slate walls, no matter how metaphorically they rose from the ground, were still a barrier between those within the castle and those on the outside. The inside was a more refined version of the countryside. The floors were made of smoothed stones. In some of the main rooms, wood paneled the walls as decoration. In the great hall, used for feasts and celebrations, stood a massive table of rough wood, large enough to seat at least a hundred people. The royal family sat at the head of the table, side by side with their citizens.

Well, more or less. Beyond the ideals of the city rests a class system that, like most of its modern counterparts, was divided along irrational lines. Warriors made up a top class, those who sat closest to the King and Queen during feasts, followed by merchants, royal pages, and craftsmen. Ironically, the people who were responsible for the wellbeing of everyone in the city, the farmers, were the lowest class. Too often the backs that do the hardest toiling, in fields and pastures, are the ones that get stepped on by greedy men pursuing higher status and wealth.

The first of this story's characters comes from that lower status. As far from the castle as can be, Krayonder was up to his knees in mud, arms wrapped around the belly of a pig.

"Hold, _muc_, hold! You miserable thing, hold!" The pig tugged hard to the right, dragging Krayonder through the mud. His grasp slipped, and the fat, wriggling pig took off across the sty. Not giving up just yet, Krayonder's feet slipped across the ground. He shot upwards, half running and half sliding through the slippery earth. Arms like windmills, he turned the corner and threw himself at his pink adversary. Landing on top of the squealing thing, he grabbed it by the legs; as he stood up, hoisting it in the air, he let out a victory cry. "Ha! No meat has ever bested the Knight, no, the Lord Krayonder!"

"Kray, have you caught the ruddy thing yet? Honestly, how hard is it to round up a measly muc?" A woman of large bearing looked out from the doorway, hands twisted in the dirty apron handing from her waist. Wiping a freckled hand across her brow, she left a streak of dirt and blood in its wake.

"I've got it, Ma," Krayonder said, making his way towards the house, the pig struggling in his hands.

"Kill it quickly, before it escapes again, ya daft boy!"

"Aye," he said, climbing over the wooden logs separating the sty from the shack where meat was prepared. As he braced the pig on the large, raised stone table, readying the rock in his hand, he looked over his shoulder to the castle in the distance. The sun had risen on the rest of the country over an hour ago, but it was just now breaking over the hills. Bright rays lit up the castle, illuminating the grey walls, the high turrets, and- Was that a flash of red on an east-facing balcony? Just a glimpse, but he felt his heart skip a beat. Her titian hair glowing in a flash of sunlight, then disappearing back into the stone walls that rose above the entire valley; the princess surveying her kingdom.

Suddenly the weight of the rock in his hand seemed to double as he was brought back to reality. Sighing, he brought it down on the skull of the pig, killing it swiftly, and whispering a prayer for the life he had taken.

"Julia! Come in to breakfast, love," called her mother from the great hall. Her voice bounced across stone walls, echoing through her bedroom and out into the crisp air.

"I prefer Specs," she whispered under her breath. The girl, 16 at most, held her hips in her hands, arms crossed across her body. Her fingers gently stroked the maroon velvet. A golden strip lined her neck, and another wrapped around her body just above her hips, connecting into one long strip hanging down the front. Small emerald stones were embedded into the gilded bands, bringing out the rich hazel of her eyes. Covering her eyes were thick glasses, centuries ahead of the technology of the time. Thick bronze goggles with translucent lenses obscured most of her small face. They allowed her to see clearly what was beyond her reach. From infancy, she had lacked the sight children usually possess. She walked into things, couldn't recognize her parents from a distance; she felt like a freak.

Specs turned, walking into the castle with hurried, short steps. Down corridor after corridor, she turned right, then left, pushing open the heavy oak door entering the great dining chamber. Her family sat at the head of the table. They looked so small against the enormous slab of wood. At least a hundred other people could sit comfortably with room to move their elbows; and yet the royals sat alone.

"Stop slouching, Julia, and walk more slowly. This is not a race, it's breakfast."

"It's not breakfast either, mother, it's nearly noon."

"Posture is not dependent on time or place. Here, I've prepared your plate."

Specs slipped into place across from her parents. Her mother, a thin woman with jet black hair, seemed to hang in the air like a spirit. She was so composed, she seemed like a statue; only the rippling movements of her midnight blue gown signaled that she was not. Her father was definitely not a statue, but he was only of average size. His shoulders were broad, decorated with the fur of a bear he had killed. His thick red hair curled unscrupulously around his face, giving him an air of distinction. The golden crown around his head was unnecessary; he was clearly a king.

A plate of fruit was pushed in front of Specs. Taking up a silver fork between her fingers, she pushed around apples, currants, and squash. She rested her head on her elbow.

"Oh Julia, I do wish you would take those ridiculous things off. You look…. Unnatural," her mother said. Specs pursed her lips.

"I can't see without them. I'm blind as a bat. I couldn't even tell these fruits apart."

"Yes, but what is sight when one is graced with so many other abilities? Julia, you're a beautiful girl, please, take them off."

"What's the point of beauty if I can't see it?"

"Beauty is not the issue here."

"But you said-"

"Your eyes are fine."

"No they aren't!"

"Julia,"

"Why can't you accept me?!"

"Just take them off!" she yelled, slamming her fists down on the table. After a moment had passed, Queen Branna pulled her hands into her lap and took a deep breath. "Please, Julia. For my sake."

Specs pushed the plate away and stood abruptly. "Well, for your sake, I would be honored to remove the blight from your vision, your majesty," she said. Rushing from the room, Specs tripped on the bottom of her dress. Stumbling, she cursed under her breath. "This stupid thing is such a waste!" She pulled the skirt up around her knees and strode confidently the rest of the way to her room.

Upon entering her bedroom, Specs planted both feet at the side of her bed, stiffened her back, and let her body fall onto the thick mattress. Tears poked at her eyes. Her fists grasped the forest green blanket, the fabric yielding beneath her fingertips so plush, so malleable. She nuzzled her face against it. Rolling onto her back, Specs took a few deep breaths. Things had to change. They just had to!

She pulled her knees to her chest and, in a swift motion, rolled forward onto her feet. She stood, reaching her hand above the canopy of her bed. She pulled down a sword, sharp and shining as always. Specs kept it that way, loving it like a pet. Taking it now, she swung at the bed posts, chipping away chunks of wood left and right. She spun around, swinging the blade as an extension of herself. She moved naturally, bending and hacking like a hero fighting a dragon.

"Someday, I'll show them all," she said, hitting one of the posts so hard that the blade stuck. After some desperate tugging, she pulled it loose and collapsed backwards onto the bed below. Lying still, she held the sword tightly to her chest.

Footsteps, growing steadily louder, echoed down the hallway. They were too light to be her father's. She cursed again, rolling onto her side and slipping the sword underneath her bed. She grabbed a pillow and used it to cover her face and ears. She pretended not to hear her mother's gentle knock at the door, or her opening the door, or anything she said. Specs scrunched up her face and began to hum, filling her ears with the sound of her own voice. She could hear her mother, getting angry, yelling at her. She hummed louder. Eventually the door slammed shut and Specs leapt off the bed, throwing the pillow against a wall. Running to her closet, she slipped from the maroon dress and hung it in the closet. She pulled on a pair of men's leather pants; a white swordsman shirt that billowed around her slender frame, with a plunged neckline that laced up; and a pair of leather boots. Reaching into a drawer to her right, she pulled out a small, jeweled dagger. Specs slipped it into her boot, tucking it safely away from view. Standing in front of her mirror, dirty as it was, she could tell she looked quite ordinary. She tucked the bottom of the shirt into the pants. It was her father's, and much too loose to be flattering.

She didn't need to be flattering. She needed to be unnoticeable.

Grabbing an emerald cloak from the closet, she drew it tightly around her shoulders and pulled the hood down as much of possible. The mass of red curls on her head made it hard to keep the cloak low enough to obscure her face. Alas, this would have to do. She grabbed her change purse and strode out onto the balcony, standing at the edge next to the wall, looking down over the edge at the ground below. It would be a challenging climb, but she could do it.

Specs sat on the stone rail. Swinging her legs around, she dropped herself down, hands gripping the edge for all she was worth. The slate was generally flat, but it had been assembled from large blocks. There were chunks missing, and gaps between the outer blocks that were large enough for her feet. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself down the wall. She slipped a few times. Her foot would slip out from under her, or her fingers would lose their grip or be cut by the small bits of broken stone that lingered in the crevices. It was slow going, but eventually she was close enough from the bottom to jump. Landing on the uneven ground, she dropped into a roll and turned, end over end, several times down the hill before landing on her feet. She took off at a brisk pace toward the market in the center of town.

Krayonder perched on the stone window ledge, the straw from the thatched roof tickling the top of his head. His mother leaned out the window, thrusting a small amount of coins into his hand.

"I need some flour. Go into town and get it. If you can haggle the price down, you can buy yourself an apple with the extra, alright?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, planting a kiss on his mother's cheek. He leapt to the ground. His brown pants, fastened just beneath the knee, billowed around his thighs. His white top was streaked with dirt and grime, the leather laces that wound through the small v-shaped cut at the neck were worn with age and falling apart. His sandy hair fell in shocks across his face; he had to give his head a toss to the side to clear them from his eyes. He wore no shoes.

Taking off at a jog, he felt his toes sinking lightly into the ground. Last night's dew had turned to dirt into a soft mud, squelching lightly beneath each step. Legends of their people spoke of fairies that came at night, swooping low over the hills, sprinkling water droplets in their wake. They visited children and gave them good dreams, visited the elderly and gave them another sunrise. Krayonder wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe in magic and fairies and love; intangible things he could neither hear nor see. And yet, pressing at the corners of his consciousness was a greater understanding, waiting to be understood; a world of facts and knowledge, things that couldn't be disputed. If only his brain were a little bigger, he thought he might be able to see these things clearly.

Soon he arrived at the market. He wove through the crowds to the merchant who sold flour. An old woman leaned on a wooden crutch, a flap of fabric tied above one eye, covering in wrinkles and folds of skin from head to toe.

"Maggie, you wonderful lass, you get younger every day!"

"Krayonder, you daft boy, flattery won't get ya nowhere," she said, giving a hoarse laugh followed by a coughing fit.

"My mum needs a sack. How much are you bleeding us for this week, eh?"

"Ten _pinginn_."

"Ten! Oh Maggie, that's theft that is! Come on, you changed me diapers when I was a babe, can't you give me anything better?"

"It's because of those diaper rag days that the price be so high!" she chortled. "I'll tell you what, I lower it t' eight, just for that pretty face o' yours," she said, pinching his cheek affectionately. He nuzzled her hand gently.

"I tell you what. Make it six, and I'll bring you some fresh pig tonight and cook you a royal feast," he said.

Maggie's lips slowly curved into a smile. "Alright, alright! You've got a deal," she said, patting his cheek. "You're a fine boy, Kray. I reckon you'll make a fine man one day, too."

Krayonder pulled the six silver coins from his pocket. He put them in her palm, locking his fingers around her hand and leaning forward, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you Maggie, I hope you'll be around when I am. A fine man needs a fine woman," he said. Pulling away, he picked up the sack of flour and slung it over his shoulder. "I'll be round tonight to cook you supper!"

"I look forward to it!" she said, falling into a coughing fit.

Krayonder walked through the street, weaving his way through the throngs of people. Most of them he'd known since childhood. With some he exchanged handshakes, and others a hearty pat on the back. As he looked upon the faces of his village, he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. It was as if the world had slowed down. A figure in an emerald cloak walked towards him. From beneath the hood he could see a glimpse of bright red hair, illuminated against the pale face and the green fabric. A fixture over her eyes masked the hazel he knew was there, but left her freckles open for viewing. With her smooth gait, she was past him in seconds. He turned, wiping the hair from his eyes with his palm. His breath was caught in his throat. People moved around him, bumping into his shoulders, but he didn't see them. He was focused on her.

She had stopped at a booth selling chocolate, and seemed to be laboring under the strain of making a decision. Seizing his opportunity, Krayonder ran over to the nearest booth with apples, and using the last of his money, bought two. She had purchased her chocolate and was walking slowly towards him. He took a deep breath. Krayonder began walking towards her, flour still balanced on his shoulder. As he approached her, he took one apple from his pocket. When he pulled up beside her he slipped it into her palm. Pressing his face to her ear, he whispered, "For you, princess."

His fingers brushed against the smooth skin of her hand. She let out a small gasp, and Krayonder continued walking. After a few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder and was delighted to find her staring at him, mouth agape. He smiled, nodded, and continued walking. As he turned down a side road, a hedge blocked his view of her. He let his breath out. Grabbing onto the hedge for support, air rushed in and out of his lungs. Suddenly the flour on his shoulder felt like an anvil. He walked the rest of the way home, running over every detail in his mind again and again. He stumbled over rocks and roots more than a few times.

Arriving at home, he plunked the flour down on the window ledge and kept walking. He heard his mother call something out, but he couldn't make it out. He walked past the sty, past the rock wall that signaled the end of his family's property, and kept going across the lush green fields. The ground began to slope upwards; he had reached the hills that blocked in the town. Soon he had to use his hands as well as his feet to keep his balance on the uneven ground. About fifty feet up, his hands grabbed onto a familiar tree trunk and pulled himself onto a narrow ledge. This was the lowest point of the wall. A thin strip of flat land and a single tree, with ample branches for climbing. Krayonder hoisted himself up into his favorite nook, one leg dangling into the air. He pulled the apple from his pocket and munched happily. He sat and looked out at the green stretch of land beyond the kingdom. In the distance, he thought he saw a splash of color, almost like a flag waving in the wind. Taking another bite, he squinted. Yes, that was definitely what he saw. A flag. It was slowly getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer. Someone was coming to Ndán.


End file.
